


and it's blue

by dashwood



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: 21st century crime-spree version of a grand tour, Andrés speaks fluent German ofc, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Martín doesn't cope well, Mild Swearing, Milk, Prompt Fill, post-marriage!Andrés is overly affectionate, set in Germany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashwood/pseuds/dashwood
Summary: “She left you already?”“Let’s not talk about her,” Andrés said in a tight voice, leaning back to brush invisible crumbs off his suit. “I’d rather talk to you, my friend. It’ll be nice to spend time with someone civilized for once. Someone who doesn’t throw a glass of water in my face.”
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 32
Kudos: 140





	and it's blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siderokardias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siderokardias/gifts).



> For the marvelous The_Reluctant_Dragon, who wanted to see post-marriage!Andrés feeling in need of attention and Martín gay-panicking about it. I hope you like it!

_C’est_ _la vie_. What a preposterous name for a German café, Martin thought as he speared a piece of _Bienenstich_ onto his fork. Surely, the good people of Bonn could have come up with something more traditional, something more _Saxon_. 

To be fair, aside from Martín’s issue with its pseudo-French cafés, Bonn was proving to be quite the quaint little town. It was just small enough to learn its layout within a couple of days, yet rich enough in history and culture to keep Andrés entertained. 

(And, of course, there were the jewelers.) 

The café Martín had chosen for their outing was something of a hole-in-the-wall. It used to be a butcher’s, which meant that the walls were covered in outmoded tiles and the seating arrangement was a bit cramped – so much so that their knees kept bumping against each other under the table. 

It might have been one of the reasons why Martín had chosen it in the first place. Because of the proximity it afforded him to his best friend, their shoulders brushing whenever Andrés craned his neck to frown at the decor. 

“So,” Martín said, taking a sip of his milk. “What’s the occasion?” 

Andrés turned to face him, his eyebrows carefully arched, and Martín felt a pang of jealousy when he realized that Andrés had been staring at the pretty waitress behind the counter. Figures. 

She had seemed nice enough, Martín supposed. Offering them a shy smile whenever she looked their way, her cheeks flushed a rosy-red. Martín wasn’t sure what Andrés had told her to provoke such a reaction; his German wasn’t exactly on par with Andrés’s and _Wir_ _sind_ _frisch_ _verheiratet_ _. Bonn_ _erweist_ _sich_ _als_ _die_ _perfekte_ _Wahl_ _für_ _unsere_ _Flitterwochen_ might as well have been gibberish for all he knew. 

Whatever it had meant, it’d gotten them a complimentary bottle of champagne, so that was that. 

“I didn’t know that I needed a special occasion to spend time with my favorite engineer.” 

“The weather is nice enough,” Martín said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I thought you’d be spending the day with Maribel.” 

He was just about to take another bite of his cake when he caught the pinched expression on Andrés’s face. Slowly, his lips curved into a knowing smile. 

“She left you already?” 

Andrés's eyes darkened. 

“Let’s not talk about her,” Andrés said in a tight voice, leaning back to brush invisible crumbs off his suit. “I’d rather talk to you, my friend. It’ll be nice to spend time with someone civilized for once. Someone who doesn’t throw a glass of water in my face.” 

Martin stifled a laugh. Just barely, and only because Andrés – like a proud feline – didn’t take kindly to being the butt of a joke. 

“She threw a glass of water in your face?” Martín asked, trying (and failing spectacularly) to clamp down on his amusement. “When was that, huh?” 

Andrés sent him a withering glare and Martín turned towards the window to hide his smile. It took him a moment to compose himself, to push down on the schadenfreude bubbling inside of him. Once he was sure he wouldn’t break out into a fit of laughter at the put-out expression on his friend’s face, he cleared his throat and glanced back at Andrés. 

“Civilized, you say?” He asked in a teasing tone, poking his tongue against the chip in his teeth. “That’s not what you said when I offered you a Devil’s Margarita the other day.” 

“Because you made it with a Romanee Conti,” Andrés scoffed. “What a waste.” 

Martín hummed around a bite of his cake. 

“Well,” he said after a moment. “I can’t say that I’ll be sad to see her go.” 

“You never liked her.” 

Martín opened his mouth to offer some halfhearted protestations only to almost gag on his own spit when he felt Andrés’s hand covering his own. His eyes flew down to take in the marvelous sight that was Andrés's thumb brushing over the back of his hand, the touch impossibly soft and gentle, and— 

“Darf es noch etwas sein?” 

With Herculean strength, Martín managed to tear his gaze away from their entwined hands to find the pretty waitress standing next to their table. She nodded towards their empty plates, and this time Martín didn't even attempt to follow their conversation. He simply allowed the melodious lilt of Andrés’s voice to wash over him, too caught up on the fact that they were holding hands like two lovers out on a date. 

His heart soared. 

“Martín?” Andrés looked at him expectantly. “You were saying?” 

Martin blinked. 

He hadn’t even noticed that the waitress had left, and right. Yes. He’d just been about to pour his heart out and tell Andrés how much he had disliked his latest wife – well, _ex-wife,_ he supposed. How she had been his least favorite out of all his conquests. How she’d been a stupid whore who was utterly undeserving of Andrés’s time and attention. 

(How Martín would have been a much better fit for Andrés. How he wasn’t afraid to worship at his feet – recklessly and without abandon. How there was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do for Andrés. All he had to do was _ask_.) 

But what he said instead was this: 

“Nothing.” 

Silence settled over them like a tablecloth. 

Their surroundings offered a beautiful ambience though. There was the soft clinking of silverware, the lively chatter of the other patrons and waiting staff. The sound of church bells ringing somewhere in the distance and the eager vendors on the market square right outside, trying to outshout each other in their endeavor to sell fresh vegetables and homemade honey. 

Martín closed his eyes, savoring the moment as though it were a precious gem. He _reveled_ in the warmth of Andrés's body next to his. His thumb was still brushing absentmindedly over the back of Martín's hand, branding him with little circles and nonsensical patterns. _Burning_ him. 

And then there was the alluring scent of Andrés's cologne – dark and woody. It made him want to lean in even closer, angle his body towards Andrés like a flower turning its head towards the sun, basking in its heat. _Flourishing_. 

If only he were allowed. If only... 

“I see that I have spoken too soon when I said you were civilized,” Andrés sighed, and Martín startled, his eyes snapping open at once. “There’s cream on your face.” 

Martín's hand flew up to his face only to be swatted away. 

“Here. Let me,” Andrés said, and before Martín's mind could catch up to what was happening, Andrés had reached up to trace the tip of his thumb over the corner of his lips. 

Martín’s heart stopped. 

He didn’t dare move, holding his breath until his lungs were burning with the need for air. His gaze was fixed on Andrés’s face, taking in the tipped-head smile he was so fond of, the dark eyes. He could almost fool himself into believing that Andrés was looking at him with desire, with _lust_. 

Martín watched as Andrés brought his hand up to his mouth, tongue flicking out to clean the cream off his thumb, and— 

“Excuse me,” Martín gasped out as he shot up in his seat and headed for the restrooms, his head spinning. His heart was pounding inside his chest, a feral little thing that wanted nothing more than to escape his ribcage and return to its rightful owner – back to Andrés, who was still seated at their table. Probably wondering what the hell was wrong with him. 

It didn’t mean anything, Martín reminded himself as soon as he’d slammed the door shut behind him. Andrés had always been affectionate with him. It didn’t mean that he actually returned his feelings. Andrés wasn't like him. He wasn't pathetic and weak; _he_ wouldn't lie awake all night, replaying this moment again and again and again, until his heart was full. 

He took a deep breath and pushed down on his feelings before returning to their table. His heart sank when he realized that Andrés was already waiting for him with their coats. It seemed like their outing had come to an end – all because Martín hadn't been able to control himself. 

God, he was such a pathetic fool. 

“Would you like to go for a walk?” Martín suggested, desperate to cling to Andrés for just a bit longer. Just a few more hours. “A stroll along the Rhine?” 

Andrés didn't pay any attention to him as they stepped outside. The crisp morning breeze enveloped their bodies in a harsh embrace, dragging its icy fingers across their bare necks. Martín shivered. He should have kept still, back in the café. He shouldn't have pulled away. He had managed to keep quiet about his feelings for years now. Surely, it’d take more than a few simple touches to break him. 

Martín cleared his throat. 

“I’m thinking Berlin,” he said and finally – blessedly – Andrés turned to look at him, searching his face for a clue to his non sequitur. It gave Martín hope. 

“You, _mi_ _cariño_ , need a change of scenery to mend your broken heart,” Martín said. With a sultry smile, he reached out to smooth the lapels of Andrés’s coat, his touch lingering, almost caressing. 

“If the German people chose Berlin over Bonn, then it should be good enough for us, right? And,” Martín added after a beat, “I hear the KaDeWe has a new security system.” 

The playful glint in Andrés’s eyes sent a shiver down his spine. 

And so what if he had picked Berlin partly because Andrés had never shown an interest in _Großstadtmädchen_ , declaring them to be too loud, too flashy, too brazen? It didn’t mean that they couldn’t have a splendid time and make some memories for themselves. Just Andrés and Martín – two kindred spirits. As it should be. 

And maybe, Martín thought as they headed towards the Rheinpromenade, he’d prolong this after-marriage blues of Andrés’s for just a bit. 

**Author's Note:**

>  _C’est la vie_ is one of my favorite cafés in Bonn, although it wouldn’t have been around when Martín and Andrés were roaming the continent, alive and happy.
> 
> Andrés told the waitress that he and Martín had just gotten married and were spending their honeymoon in Bonn. Now, I’m not saying he did it to get a free bottle of champagne, but I’m not saying that wasn’t his intent either.


End file.
